


I'm In Here

by t0bemadeofglass



Series: Mini Prompts [34]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Jealousy, masochist!Loki, rating just to be safe, slight S/M themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/pseuds/t0bemadeofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has a unique way of dealing with all the chaos in his head and Natasha is just the woman to help him with it, especially when she's the cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm In Here

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! We take a break from your usually scheduled fic updates to bring you this one-shot that just won't leave me alone, so I hope you like it! Title comes from the song of the same name by Sia, which is absolutely gorgeous. Enjoy! 

“Hit me.”  The order came as a growl from the green eyes staring up at her, their owner on his knees in front, hands clenched into fists at his sides and his mouth set into a hard line as he glared.  He didn’t get on his knees for anyone else, just her, and while the information usually made her stomach knot up with a strange sort of affection there was a difference in it tonight.  It wasn’t just the surrender he wanted, the loss of control he was usually after when they were together, he was looking to forget as well.  Nat supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised.  She’d been caught looking at another man, and while it wasn’t exactly a crime against humanity (not when one took into account what both of them had done) it hadn’t done very well for Loki.  His eyes had followed her own, watching the blond man with deep brown eyes smile at Natasha through his lashes as he filled her coffee order, and Nat could practically feel his roar of possession as his arm encircled her waist.  What was worse, and she knew this now, was that she’d stiffened underneath him, turned complacent about the affection and possessiveness he was showing.  He’d retracted his arm after that, thinking if she was going to deny him that then what else would she deny him?  

It had all gone downhill from there, she supposed.  She’d snapped at him that he was being childish as they walked down the crowded street, her blue eyes glaring over at him, and his jaw had clenched hard enough to crush steel, she was sure, if he felt like it, his hands fisted.  She wondered just whose throat he imagined crushing beneath his fingers, and when he shot a contemptuous glare her way she was certain it was hers.  Not that it bothered her.  Ass.

“You have to get over the fact that yes, I do look at men.  Surely you look at other women, notice their beauty?” She remarked, sounding more callous and harsh than she meant to, as though questioning his manhood rather than faithfulness.  She thought he might snap his own neck how quickly he turned to look at her.  

“When have you ever seen me do that?” He demanded, words as cold as his second form.  Now that he said something about it, and she really thought, she’d never so much as seen him look elsewhere, not even when they went to one of Tony’s stupid banquets and there were no shortage of voluptuous women practically showing off their whole body in hopes of attracting a billionaire’s attention.  

“Either way,” Natasha restarted, swallowing hard and trying a different tact.  “Are you trying to tell me that I’m not allowed to look at anyone else?” She arched a brow, challenging him.  

He growled and pulled away from her, walking far ahead so that she would’ve had to run to catch up with him if she wanted.  She didn’t want to.  He could act like a child if he wanted to; it wasn’t her business to tell him how to act.  

He didn’t say another word until they were back in the tower and in the privacy of their own room.  There he rounded on her.  “Should I not bother getting my hopes up that this is a permanent fixture in our life?” He asked, eyes hard.  “Have I not been patient and willing to wait until you felt comfortable to do anything?”  

Yes, he had been.  He’d been very good at waiting for her to learn to trust him, being nothing but honest (which she understood was a difficult trial for him) when in her presence and comforting her when she needed.  They even had a system to help her relieve tension, though she thought it worked best for him rather than her.  She had training dummies, after all, that she would feel much less guilty about smacking around.  

“Of course you have been.”

“Then why is it you seem so eager to seek other partners out?  Am I not what you wish for?” He asked and for the first moment since they’d started, well, whatever it was she saw hesitance and self-doubt in his eyes, saw the twitch in his brow and the centuries of being looked over come back to haunt him.  She stepped closer slowly, reached out to stroke the side of his face but he jerked away.  The softness was lost on his face, replaced with hard disappointment and a certain coldness that she hadn’t seen since they’d decided to try this whole relationship thing out.  

“Loki, I picked you.  No one else,” she reminded him, her eyes narrowing a little.  “I want to be with you as much as you want to be with me.  You can’t doubt that.”

“Can’t, or shouldn’t because it would complicate your life?” He demanded, pulling away from her again.  

Natasha growled and drew back her hand to slap him.  The sound resounded through the room, echoing in her ears as his head stayed turned to the side, her handprint burning red for the briefest of moments before fading from his skin.  He paused for the briefest of moments before he turned back to her.  He’d fallen to his knees and that was how they’d gotten there, him looking up at her and demanding that she strike him again.  She felt hesitance creep into her conscious.  He’d never once outright asked for it, never demanded that she strike him.  That she’d found out he was a masochist was strictly a fluke; she’d simply noticed how he’d shuddered with delight each time she’d grab him by the hair and yank him to follow her when he was summoned, or else how he intentionally made her angry so that she lashed out at him, and then barely suppressed moans when she followed through.  

It was about the same time she decided that she was a sadist, at least when he was involved.  Already she felt the familiar heat pooling in her belly just looking at him on his knees in front of her, brain growing heady with the knowledge that she was the only one that he’d do this for.  Only she knew how to make him kneel, and she grabbed his hair at the back of his skull to yank his face backwards.  She drew closer to crash her lips against his, drawing blood as she bit down on his bottom lip.  He shivered and groaned underneath her, his fingers stretching then tensing again at his sides when she drew away, licking the blood that was smeared over her bottom lip.  Her fist collided with the side of his face, making it crack as it turned so hard and he let out the softest of groans.  She thought she might have felt the bone crack underneath her fist, and she pressed a kiss to his cheekbone, feeling him recoil and hearing him hiss though she knew he loved the pain.  How could he not?  It helped him forget, he’d once told her.  Helped him shut everything else out and she took solace in the idea that she was helping him the more her fists pummeled him.  Often times she’d get out the knife or a whip or even her Bites to make him suffer, but tonight she thought that her own brute force would be enough to keep his brain quiet, to silence the buzzing and incessant chatter of ideas and mischief and schemes that he said constantly plagued him, and so she rained the blows down on him harder than ever.  She always worried, though the idea was hilarious, that she’d end up actually hurting him, and that the damage would be irreparable and he’d leave.

It struck her nearly as hard as she did Loki that she was terrified of that, and for a moment she stopped, her hand loosening from where she held his throat in her hand.  His eyes, which had glazed over as he took the beating, looked up at her, curious, wondering why she stopped.  She saw the tears that had already leaked down his cheeks and wondered what inner battles he was fighting as she hit him, and without allowing him to say a word she leaned in to press her lips to his, hands on his shoulders pulling him up and closer to her.  He allowed her to move him as she needed, recognizing that this was for her and not for him though she supposed he must have taken some pleasure in it based on how he responded.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her lips when she pulled away.  She watched as the bruises and cuts from her fists and nails healed on his face and his throat, the deep scratches she’d given him across his collar slowly clotting and mending.  It was amazing to watch.  “I never meant to get so jealous.”  

“I know you didn’t,” she promised him as she helped him up to his feet.  He winced as her hand moved to his shoulder, and she immediately lowered it to his forearm.  “I guess I hit a little harder than usual?”

“I riled you up, but I appreciate it nonetheless,” he murmured to her, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek.  “Thank you.”  

She smiled as best she could and nodded, helping into the shower so he might clean himself up, trying not to notice the way he winced every time he had to raise his arms even the slightest or move his head so much as an inch.  He would be alright, though, she reminded herself.  They both would be.  

 


End file.
